Blest who in battle meets the friendly ball,
While rattling guns proclaim his glorious fall,
For honor's holiest tear has oft been shed
On the cold sod, that wraps the soldier's head:
What, now, for me, condemn'd to peace, remains,
But useless ardors, unavailing pains;
This lopp'd, and barren trunk, by action laid
Aloof, no more shall rising laurels shade;
In this quench'd eye no more shall courage shine,
Or danger nerve this wither'd arm of mine;
No more, surpassing feats of valour shewn,
Shall F RED RICK vaunt of prowess, like his own!
Yet, thanks to that undaunted youth, who led
The foremost fight, where most the battle bled,
Thanks to that Princely C HIEF , beyond the rest,
Whose throne is built in every B RITON'S breast;
Tho' doom'd at home, in silent sloth, to yield,
Nor brave the deathful glories of the field,
Still this maim'd stump, to shudd'ring crowds may shew,
The pictur'd scenes that bade his spirit glow,
And, as in F LANDRIA'S shatter'd map I trace
Each signal spot, each memorable place,
Where sluiced in every vein, and steep'd in gore,
Grim D EATH himself the E NGLISH S TANDARD bore,
Here, point to D UNKIRK 's strength, or, here display
C ATAU 's dread plain, or G HENT 's immortal day,
Meanwhile, in every circling goblet flows
Health to the hero, horror to his foes!